


The Elegance of a Bad Decision

by thingsishouldntbedoing



Series: The Elegance Of [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Conspiracy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Undercover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:58:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3444575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsishouldntbedoing/pseuds/thingsishouldntbedoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the words he’d thought he’d had, all the things he’d planned to say if by some Kingsman magic Harry returned to him, all the things he’d told himself for months… simply fell away. Harry Hart was <i>alive</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The weary world rejoices.

**Author's Note:**

> This movie has gripped my soul. SOS.
> 
>  
> 
> wanna yell about headcanons? find me on tumblr at [serahgalahad](http://jocunditea.co.vu/) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/thorintea).

He should have been there. That was all Eggsy could think about. He should have been standing with him when Valentine died.

Galahad.  _Harry_.

It was hard to pretend, standing before Merlin as his title was presented, that he was fine. They knew. It was obvious when Lancelot asked, her voice dipped as low as her brows. Obvious when Merlin took a pass at it, trying to seem disconnected. Eggsy rebuffed her with a turn of his shoulder, him with a sharp jerk of his head, repeating his his assertion, “I’m fine".

For all his bravado, for all his aggression and a world-saving high Harry was still gone, and Eggsy was still suffocating his emotions beneath a hard-won victory. A victory that shouldn’t have been his. A victory he should have celebrated with Harry Hart.

He was thankful for the chaos that ensued: the world was falling apart, the Kingsman organization was needed, and Eggsy had little time to rest for months. He liked it that way. He liked being  _Galahad_. He spent his days on the run and his nights with beautiful people of all walks of life. The hours between, however, burned bright like matches lit in shaking fingers to burn cheap cigarettes - meant to soothe aching nerves and stifle fractured nightmares.

Nightmares about blood dripping in a church in Kentucky, gunshots over a crackling earpiece. Nightmares that left him broken and sobbing and suffering. Nightmares that were in no way gentlemanly. Though he supposed being a gentleman mattered little when he was struggling to sleep; clawing at too-soft sheets and waking in cold sweats that clung to his skin like damp cotton.

The return home was a relief. The burst of warm air from his front door, as brief as his stay would be, had him closing his eyes and breathing out tight muscles. It was strange to be back in England, to have a few days all his own.  
  
“Mum?” He called for her, dropping his bag in the entry. “I’m home!” He unbuttoned his jacket and folded it over his arm, pulling his tie loose. “Mum? Daisy-girl where you at?”   
  
“They aren’t here,  _Galahad_.”  
  
The slither of bespoke wool was nearly deafening in the utter silence that followed. His jacket pooled around his oxfords, the silken lining glinting in what little light streamed in through the curtains, but he daren’t reach to retrieve it. His breath caught hard on the fist around his heart, escaping into the unlit drawing room as a noiseless sob.  
  
“I am… so very proud of you.”   
  
The universe caved around him, exploded before his eyes as Eggsy threw his weary body into his mentor’s arms and collapsed against his chest.   
  
Harry Hart. Harry with his overly expensive cologne that sank into his senses and mingled with the clean scent of wool and cotton. Harry with deceptive strength and warm muscle beneath crisp fabric. Harry whose arms wound around him even as Eggsy fought back tears that burned against his eyes. Harry. Whose gentle voice spoke words he didn’t want to hear, didn’t care to hear. Whose grip tightened when Eggsy buried his face into the crook of his neck and swore - choked around shattered curses and ragged promises.

All the words he’d thought he’d had, all the things he’d planned to say if by some  _Kingsman_  magic Harry returned to him, all the things he’d told himself for months… simply fell away. All of his exhaustion, all of his anger, all of his sadness were scraped from the very walls of his heart - leaving him empty and clean.


	2. That just won't do.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’re here now and… that’s what matters.” The words didn’t seem like they belonged to Eggsy, out of place and stiff on his tongue. “Righ’?”

Eggsy smelled like Old Spice. Musky and dark. Cedar and sandalwood grating against anchoring spices that filled his nostrils and crashed against his _finer_ sensibilities - but it was Eggsy and it was real and that was all that _really_ mattered.  
  
“You’re a bloody tosser,” Eggsy swore as he drew away.

“Yes well you are not the first person to tell me that. Nor, I think, will you be the last.” Harry gave a crooked smile, relaxing under the young man’s gaze. He had deceived him, but Eggsy seemed less than angry. The new Galahad’s blue eyes were bright and shining, an ocean to be lost in. He was happy that Harry had returned, happy for the first time since Harry had met him.  
  
“Yeh, you’re right about that.” Eggsy curled gentle fingers into the short hairs at the nape of Harry’s neck, thumbing along the edge of his jaw. “Fuck… can I…” Eggsy’s eyes flicked up and Harry self consciously lifted his fingers to smooth his hair down over the thin scars now present beneath his hairline. “Tea? I’ll get… tea…” He pressed his hands against Harry’s chest briefly, as if the moment Harry was no longer within Eggsy’s reach he’d vanish. “Yeh…” He turned and made his way into the kitchen.  
  
“You are handling this quite a bit better than I thought you would.” Harry followed, loosening his tie. “Must have come as a bit of a shock?”  
  
Eggsy didn’t respond for a moment, setting the kettle down with a heavy _thunk_ that died against the walls of the kitchen. Harry watched his shoulders tighten ever so slightly beneath his fitted shirt, muscle hard beneath fine cotton. A little over two years earlier and those shoulders would have been swallowed beneath cheap poly blends and bulky hoods, Harry liked to think Eggsy deserved better than that.  
  
“Galahad?”  
  
“Sorry, wot?” He turned at the sound of his codename. “Yeah bit of a shock.” He finally echoed. His accent had softened, Harry noted with a vague disappointment, likely from being around Merlin and Lancelot. 

“You know we’ve got five openings, yeah?” Eggsy redirected the conversation when Harry remained silent. “Lotta new agents flooding in… but I guess you knew that...”  
  
Harry still said nothing, watching Eggsy’s head drop back in frustration. He wasn’t sure _why_ his protégé was keeping his back to him so adamantly but he was bound and determined to find out.  
  
“You know I’m really glad you’re back but…”  


 _Ah here it comes_.  
  
“But I…” He was interrupted by the building scream of the kettle on the counter, jumping to retrieve it and fill the cups he’d procured.

Silence reigned again, pressing in on them as Eggsy brought him his tea and sat down across from him at the small dining table. Harry took the chance, under a watchful gaze, to glance around the room. He had a feeling that Eggsy had had little to do with the decoration - too tasteful and middle class, with classic touches that Harry appreciated, to have been his protégé’s choice.  
  
“Mum… had a go at the house while I was gone.” Eggsy made an abortive gesture before dropping his hand back into his lap. “Every time I come back somethin’s different.”  
  
“Mothers are like that aren’t they?” Harry mused. He took a sip of his tea, pleasantly surprised to find it to his liking.

“Why’re you here?” Eggsy asked finally, intelligent eyes on Harry’s face. He tapped the tip of his finger against his cup, tea untouched, and Harry was forced to take this as a sign that their conversation was about to take a rather unpleasant turn.  
  
“Should I not be?”  
  
“ _Not_ an answer. You said ‘I’ll take care of this mess when I get back’ and I… that was the last thing I heard you say. You left and tha’ ‘ole mess ‘appened and…”  
  
“I am here because I am well enough to be out and about on my own.”  
  
“ _You’ve_ been calling the shots, then? Not Merlin?” Eggsy said perceptively. “Why lie to me?”  
  
“I never _lied_ to you. I just didn’t tell you the truth. A lie of omission is very different from a blatant falsity.” Harry tried to dismiss his own unease but Eggsy countered him too easily.

“I would have… wanted to know you were okay, Harry.”  
  
The blatant use of his name threw him off his mark and his hand shook as he lowered his cup to his saucer, flinching at the clanging in the otherwise quiet room. Eggsy had grown in his training, and in the months since he had saved the world. He had grown into an agent of his own caliber, an agent with incredible skill and savvy that could see through Harry more easily than he once had thought.  
  
“Wot? D’ya think I was gonna yell ‘bout it? Get angry and shout myself hoarse?”  
  
Harry considered, for the briefest of moments, that the yelling was arguably more preferable to the quiet disappointment that had begun to radiate off his apprentice.  
  
“Well I’m not. You ‘ad your reasons. You always have your reasons for shite like this. We’re Kingsman yeah? We have secrets and our secrets have secrets and those secrets have an iron fist ‘round our balls.” He sipped his tea, the only sign that he was upset the tight clench of his jaw when he set his cup down. “It’s fine.”  
  
“It’s not fine. I shouldn’t have lied to you, and for that I am sorry.” Harry wanted to reach out to him, to hold him again as he had done in the drawing room.  
  
“I’ll get over it. You’re here now and… that’s what matters.” The words didn’t seem like they belonged to Eggsy, out of place and stiff on his tongue. “Righ’?”  
  
“Right.” But the agreement felt more hollow than he wished it did.

 

* * *

 

The immediate joy of Harry’s return had been dampened by… well by Harry’s return. The conflict of emotions had only risen once he’d taken a breath in the kitchen… once he’d allowed himself a moment to calm his racing heart.

Harry Hart was _alive._ Harry Hart was as alive as Eggsy was. Harry _sodding_ Hart was sitting in his dining room with air in his lungs and thoughts in his head.

And when they spoke, when he watched Harry collapse under his disappointment and his quiet fury, a satisfaction bloomed cold in his chest and stilled his aggression. He could understand the need for secrecy, the need to be sure Harry would live, but the continued and effortless half truths he'd been given irked him.

"I thought that if you knew... You wouldn't leave my side." Harry admitted into the nebulous tension that hung between them. "I was afraid that you wouldn't..."

"Wot? That I wouldn't do my goddamned job? Yeh maybe I'd... You think that's..." He hissed air out between his teeth, leveling his gaze to Harry's.

"It's not that I don't have faith in you, Eggsy, it's because I..." Words hung on a fine thread at the tip of his tongue, crawling back where they had come from to be swallowed up by yet another silence.

"You wot?" Eggsy insisted. Guilt, plain and sharp, flashed in Harry's eyes at his insistence but were immediately cloaked behind the same unreadable facade Eggsy had come to know well. "Look I'm an agent now. Taken your place. I don't need guidance. I don't need help to do my job, aight? And I don't need no babysittin'. If I had known yeah I would 'ave sat by you. But then I'd've gone off to do my job... Which is being a big fuckin' 'ero, yeah? I'm as much a Kingsman as you."

A bland fury rose beneath his skin at Harry's impassive gaze and he stood up, nearly knocking his chair over with the movement. He had been given a chance, had been allowed to succeed and excel, and he had taken every opportunity until he’d been asked to shoot J.B. and do away with one of the only things he’d ever had all his own.

"I don't know how I feel. I prolly deserved this." He shook his head, sniffing in cold air. "I deserved to suffer. I cocked it up. Made you look like a bloody fool."

The sound of a phone ringing alerted them both and Eggsy pulled it from his pocket. 

"Galahad," he answered with ease, flicking his eyes over to where Harry sat with patience in his features and kindness in his eyes. "Yeah? Aight I can handle that. Be there in a mo'." He hung up and slipped his phone back with one fluid movement. "Gotta-"

"Yes, of course. I understand." Harry nodded.

He wished he didn't understand. He wished Harry would say something more. Would tell him not to go. Would yell back or argue with him rather than sit there with that same defeated look on his face. He wished Harry _fucking_ Hart would stop being such a goddamned gentleman and start saying what he wanted to say.

"I will see you when you get back. I am the new Arthur after all." Harry informed and Eggsy gave a sharp nod.

"Yeah. After." Eggsy sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, starting for the door. "You-"

"I got in. I can see myself out."

He lingered longer than he would have liked, standing with his fingers rubbing the base of his skull and the other hand in his pocket, watching Harry drink tea from his mother's favorite China. He would rather have left and forgotten the entire thing had happened, giving some serious contemplation to shooting himself up with the ever convenient amnesia serum on his wrist... Anything but stand here staring at Harry as if he was a spectre that might vanish if he took his eyes off.

 

* * *

 

He didn't vanish. Not for days. Not for weeks. Every time Eggsy turned around Harry was there - as if his head injury had given him some mutant teleportation power that tracked Eggsy's every movement. Needless to say he was glad for the distraction Lancelot's return gave him, for the way she immediately understood without a single word spoken between them.

Things fell into place with Roxy there. He grew more comfortable with Harry's presence, even though questions hung unanswered like discarded suit patterns in the Kingsman storefront, and found a routine he could live with involving never being in the room alone with Arthur unless absolutely necessary and incredibly brief. They weren't, by any means, perfect.

Roxy leaned forward, brows arched high, “So _wait_ let me get this straight? You set a-”  
  
“Yeah I set m’friend on fire,” Eggsy popped a peanut into the air and caught it in his mouth. “Deserved it dinnit ‘e?”

They had been covering the new recruits together, looking at their scores and aptitude tests, which had left the three of them sitting around the table talking about training and their old lives - well Roxy and Eggsy at least. Harry sat at the head of the table and watched them with an air of _adamant_ disinterest.  
  
“I am _not_ certain that setting someone on fire is an appropriate reaction to-” Eggsy could almost _taste_ Harry Hart’s disapproval on his voice, flashing a smirk his direction.  
  
“‘M certain it don’t matter, does it?” He flicked another nut, disappointed when a hand swept it out from above his lips. “Piss off.” Roxy winked at him. “Look ‘e deserved it. Knackered as fuck down to ‘is knickers, yelling in my front lawn?”  
  
“You set him on _fire_ , Galahad!” Roxy did little to bite back her laugh under Harry’s incredulous glare.

“I blew the ‘eads off a few ‘undred world leaders too dinnit I?” He chewed at the edge of his thumb nail, eyes flicking over to Harry's face. 

Harry, _Arthur_ now, was watching him with carefully concealed concern, the lines of his face turning down ever so slightly. Eggsy recalculated his flippant comment, snorting air out his nose, and dragged his eyes away.

"Eh, are we off the clock yet?" He checked his watch, shaking the fabric of his jacket off his wrist. 

"We were a few minutes ago, Eggsy," Roxy flicked a peanut at him and he jerked his head to catch it. "I'm going to the chateau this weekend to watch the newbies. Want to come?"

He considered her offer, then looked back to Harry. The older agent was carefully packing away his iPad and slipping his phone into his breast pocket, but there was a certain mischief in his eyes when he looked up that irked Eggsy just a _touch_.

"Yeh sure." The smirk that ripped his lips apart had Harry's face sinking. He wasn't as much a sure thing as Harry Hart imagined him. "Sounds like fun. I'll just try not to cock it up too much, last time I was there I nearly got it."

"Well you two enjoy yourselves," Harry rose from his seat and fastened his jacket easily. "Do try not to murder anyone unnecessarily." His hand passed over Eggsy's shoulder, as if he might squeeze it as he had done so many times before, but apparently reconsidered and slid his fingers over the back of the chair instead.

"You're not comin'?" Eggsy turned to watch him go.

"Don't be ridiculous, Eggsy," he clucked and shut the office door.

"Wot's 'e mean? Don't be _ridiculous_ ," he grumbled. "Wotchu laughin' for?"  
  
“You two. You’re dancing around each other and it’s incredible,” Roxy laughed. She rose from her chair and packed her file and her tablet under her arm. 

He heard her offer through the haze of concentration, picking at his fingernails. Everyone knew that something had happened between Harry and Eggsy, that their relationship had yet to return to the same level of intimacy they’d had before. Everyone had seen how immediately Eggsy had come to Harry’s side when he’d been hurt, had seen how proud Harry was of his apprentice, but none had seen how badly his loss had affected him.

“Wanna grab a pint before we go?” Her voice reached out through the haze and drew him back to the present.   
  
He jerked his head in agreement and rose from his seat, dropping his phone into his jacket pocket.

A pint or _eight_ would do some good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying this story. For real.


	3. For you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he had been a stronger man he wouldn’t have let fear and worry suck the air from his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you all. Lemme know what you think in the comments, yeah? :3

On second thought… drinking himself into a stupor was probably a bad idea. A second thought he let pass through his mind as he strode out onto the landing green outside the Kingsman chateau.  
  
“Eggsy are you sure about this?” Roxy followed at his heels as he took a bracing swig from a bottle of whiskey. “I’m not sure you’re supposed to be drinking… that…”

"You think I fuckin’ care?” He was surprisingly stable for all he’d had to drink. “You said you wan’ed to learn, yeh?”  


“I was thinking… tomorrow or…” she caught his arm and he stilled, wiping his mouth on his forearm. “You’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?”  
  
The cool air of the English countryside had his trouser legs fluttering around his ankles, the open hang of his waistcoat slapping against his chest. A gust bit through the thin fabric of his white shirt and his skin tightened into gooseflesh.

“Hell yeah I’m gonna fuckin’ do it,” he shoved the bottle into her hands. “Just fuckin’ watch me.”   
  
“I’m not so sure I want to… Eggsy… _Galahad?_ ” He heard her voice on the wind as he rolled his sleeves and took off running for the rear windows. His fingers caught hold, Oxfords sliding on the window sills as he heaved himself up the side of the building. If he had been less drunk and a lot more sober he would have had less trouble - but he was a Kingsman, _and_ this was not the first time he had free run while under the influence.

“Eggsy!” He heard his name again, muddled and faraway, but pressed on until he was winded and aching, clutching the side of the chateau with all his strength. If he fell he was sure to die, he knew that much, but he was Eggsy Unwin and there was no way in _hell_ that he was going to fall.  
  
“Christ,” his fingers slipped on the roofline and his heart leapt into his throat, but a powerful hand wrapped around his wrist and he looked up, vision glazed. “You’re fuckin’-" 

"This is most ungentlemanly," Harry pulled him onto the rooftop. "Positively disgraceful."

He flopped down and caught his breath, watching the stars spin above him for a moment. 

"Arthur! Is he alright?" Roxy called from the green.

"Yes. I'll bring him down shortly, Lancelot." 

"I made it up here, though," Eggsy panted, feeling his stomach churn. "Fuckin' knackered. Better'n you."

"If you vomit all over yourself I will consider it your resignation letter," Harry murmured as he crouched. "What is the meaning of this stunt?"

"What stunt? Rox wanted to learn to free run. I _obliged_." He heaved a scoff and rolled onto his side. "Thot you said you wasn't coming here?" 

"I changed my mind. I am allowed to do that aren't I?" Harry offered him a hand. "If you vomit on _me_ I will consider it a death wish."

"I ain't gonna vom. This is nuthin'." 

Despite the world spinning around him, and how Harry's face swam in his gaze, his stomach had settled and his heart rate had slowed - signs of equilibrium returning. 

"You're walking a dangerous line, Galahad. Drinking yourself to death won't help anything."

"Helps me sleep at night don't it?" Eggsy admitted around a thick tongue. 

"I'm not sure that what you do is considered _sleep_ , my boy."

"Why do you do that?" Eggsy blinked the vignette from his vision.

"Why do I do what?" Harry sat beside him and adjusted his pant legs for comfort.

"You know wot. Call me _my boy_ or summat? I ain't your boy." 

"If it bothers you so much I will refrain in the future." 

It didn't bother him. Quite the contrary in fact: it was a term of endearment he had come to expect and like. He had liked being Galahad's boy. Being Arthur's boy. Being Harry's boy. Harry's companion. Harry's... friend? 

"Did I say it did? I just..." He slipped as he tried to sit up and Harry's hand caught his tricep. "Thanks."

Quiet cloaked them, absolute silence in the empty countryside, and Eggsy tried to sober his thoughts, draping his elbows over his crooked knees. Harry sat beside him, still in the rollicking breeze that made sharp corners of the roofline into a whinging chorus that burned his ears and forced him into a wince.

"Are you going to go back to Lancelot?" Harry asked finally.

"Yeh. Is there a way down?"

"The way you came, I imagine," Harry said as he rose, offering a hand to Eggsy and pulling him to his feet. "If you ever can't sleep... I am always available to you."

He tried to let the words dissolve in his mind, tried to let them sink in, but instead he shook his head. How could Harry expect to understand? How would Harry know?

"Eggsy..." He lifted his hand and Eggsy threw his arm up in a sudden panic, shielding his eyes from a coming blow, staggering to brace himself.

 

* * *

 

The wind might have blown him down when the cold wash of shock flooded him and left him dumbstruck. Here he was, standing on the roof of the Kingsman chateau, and Eggsy Unwin felt the need to _shield_ himself?

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Shouldn't have been surprised when Eggsy dropped his block and took a step back with fading panic in his exhausted features. Shouldn't have been surprised knowing where Eggsy had come from, how being drunk would have been treated... 

"I'm not going to hurt you, Eggsy." Harry let his hand fall to his side numbly. "You know that."

Did he? Did he know that? How could Harry think himself any better than anyone else? He had said he wanted to be superior to his former self but... could Harry Hart really say that he didn't consider himself superior to Eggsy's step-father? Superior to whoever had hurt his apprentice in the past?

He had let Eggsy believe he was dead. That the one person who had given him a chance, given him a new life, given him _hope_ had been buried beneath the cold English ground. How could he think himself any better when he had hurt Eggsy so deeply? Deep enough that Eggsy had simply decided to avoid the problem rather than confront it the way he usually did?

"Eggsy!" Roxy's head appeared through the skylight Harry had obviously come out of. "Are you..." She looked between them.

"I'm fine," Eggsy murmured and gestured at Harry before brushing past him to get to where Roxy waited. "Night, Arthur."

Why did those words feel like a knife in his heart?

"Do try not to climb the chateau like a monkey again, please?" Harry managed around the pressure in his chest. 

"Yeh."

He heard Eggsy slip on his way down, wincing at the fear he would fall, and released the tension through his nose. 

What he needed now was an undercover spy ring or a group of thugs trying to play hostage situation... at this point he'd take a fist fight on a London street to blow off steam. 

What he settled for was a sparring match with Merlin that ended with the two of them sitting in the parlor with whisky between them and ice packed around Merlin’s shoulder.

“You age like fine wine, my friend,” Merlin laughed, toasting Harry with a tumbler.  
  
“And you like-” Harry looked up when Roxy and Eggsy passed by, leaning on each other as they crossed to the kitchens. Eggsy had traded his armor out for a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, suit socks padding on the rich hardwood. Roxy was in a similar state of undress in a sweatshirt and leggings with her hair in a sloppy bun - leaning into Eggsy’s arm around her waist.  
  
“They’re very close,” Merlin informed.  
  
“Are they… well they’ve been through a lot together.” Harry tossed his scotch back. “They’re also pissed.”  
  
“Yes well… they deserve the break I think? Galahad and Lancelot will be heading out in a few days.” Harry couldn’t say he _liked_ the sound of Merlin’s voice at that moment - too knowing and mischievous.  
  
“Galahad? Where to?” He set his glass down, brows knitted.  
  
“Italy. Portovenere. We’ve got word that a smuggling ring is taking advantage of the chaos and we’re in desperate need of some surveillance. Fortunately a couple of lovebirds will be honeymooning in the area.” Merlin smiled complacently.  
  
“Lovebirds… indeed…” Harry murmured. “You might very well be the devil, you know that Merlin?”  
  
His friend tossed back the last of his whisky and rose from his seat, “Sleep well, Arthur.”  
  
“If I sleep at all,” he sighed honestly and ran his fingers through his hair, stopping Merlin in his tracks.

Merlin was quiet for a moment, laying a hand to the doorway to the parlor, and Harry regretted saying anything.   
  
“Nightmares?” Merlin turned his head and Harry caught the concern on his voice.  
  
“That was a careless mistake. No need to worry about me.” Harry dismissed and poured himself another shot of whisky. “I will recover, as I always do.”  
  
“You know if you ever need to talk… Kingsman has some bang up therapists. You know that.” Merlin offered. “What happened to you in Kentucky… that would mess with anybody’s head…” 

Harry sipped his drink and settled his eyes on the window, anywhere but on Merlin, and prayed the other agent would leave. He didn’t want to talk about this. Not now. Not ever. He would recover in his own time.  
  
“Being a gentleman doesn’t… ah sod it all… I’ll see you tomorrow.” He saw Merlin wave his hand in exasperation and vanish around the corner, leaving Harry to his thoughts.  
  
His thoughts of Eggsy in the drawing room, his firm body pressed against Harry’s. Thoughts of Eggsy slipping from between his arms. Thoughts of Eggsy. Always Eggsy. He had failed his father, failed his protégé, failed himself.

And he had no idea of how to go about fixing it all.  
  


* * *

 

He sighed, rolling onto his stomach on the plush bed. He almost missed the bed in the recruit barracks. They were more to his liking, more to his taste. As if _that_ was the reason for his exhaustion or his insomnia. 

He heard Roxy roll in her sleep in the other bed, murmuring as she often did, and tried to settle back in - watching the grey beginnings of dawn bloom through the crack in the curtains. He had hardly slept, a flood of regret for his words to Harry on the roof keeping him from being anything close to restful.

He staggered to his feet, rubbing his palm against the burn in his chest, and made for the toilet. Being half drunk and half hungover was one of the worst possible combinations - and the kitchens being half a mile away only made that fact worse. He lost the fight with himself to simply make do with the water from the tap and padded through the empty halls of the townhouse, pulling a blanket around his shoulders to keep the chill off his skin.  
  
If he had been more poetic he would have given words to the soft sound of birds, their songs faint and lustrous in the early morning, or the way the light glinted off the polished wood surfaces of the antique furniture… but seeing as he was no poet he resorted to taking in everything he saw.

Everything he saw including Harry Hart sound asleep on the settee.   
  
“Oh Harry…” he was saying the words before he was aware of himself, walking over and pushing the door open with his fingertips.  
  
He was reminded, distinctly, of J.B. when he dreamed - the softest whimpers and tremors of terror in Harry’s usually prim form wrapping icy fingers around his heart. He slept fitfully, eyelids shifting, and Eggsy wondered how long it had been since Harry had slept proper. He wanted to wake him, to shake his shoulder and tell him it was nothing but a dream, but instead he shrugged off the blanket he’d warmed with his body and tucked it around his mentor with swift and gentle fingers.  
  
He let his touch linger, fingertips at the line of Harry’s cheekbone, then the dip of his temple, then into the first streaks of grey in his hair. Under his touch Harry seemed to calm, ragged breathing easing into deep and steady intakes that served to fill Eggsy’s heart with warmth. 

After all this time, after everything that happened, Harry still managed to take his breath away. He had stolen the air from his lungs at the pub, then again and again with his generosity, and finally with the battle in Kentucky. The fight in the church had been one he wouldn’t have believed if it hadn’t been for the feed from Harry’s glasses, one he wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. Harry had lost control but he had been nothing less than lethal elegance - diving and turning and swift as a fox - and if it hadn’t been for the devastation Eggsy might have thought it beautiful. 

“ _Eggsy_ ,” he heard his name on Harry’s lips and lingered a moment longer - as if Harry might reveal some unknown truth - but was sorely disappointed when nothing more came. His heart clenched tight in his chest, pulling at its tendons as if all it desired was to beat futilely against its calcium cage until all his bones were broken and the ache had been freed from him in the most brutal way possible.

If he had been a stronger man he wouldn’t have stood above Harry Hart and watched him sleep, skin tight in the cold of the chateau. If he had been a stronger man he wouldn’t have let fear and worry suck the air from his lungs. If he had been stronger… he wouldn’t have pushed away the one person that had cared about him.

 

* * *

 

When Harry woke the next morning, to the sound of chirping birds and the tattoo of gunfire, he found himself enveloped in the warmth of a fleece blanket that smelled faintly of sandalwood and spices.


	4. To be pitied.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching Eggsy struggle with suspenders against the slight sunburn he’d accrued despite his repeated attempts to forestall it gave him a rather unreasonable amount of delight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Roxy's dress you should click [this link](http://www.usmagazine.com/uploads/assets/photo_galleries/regular_galleries/1577-best-oscar-dresses-of-all-time/photos/1330010801_mila-kunis-1500.jpg). I thought Elie Saab was an appropriate choice.

They set up in Portovenere with subtle cameras in the hallway, tossed artfully between them, and set about making their hotel room as comfortable as possible. No one had suspected a thing, not with two well-dressed honeymooners and Eggsy’s _very_ convincing posh accent. It had been an easy ride and they were celebrating their success.

Roxy opened the balcony doors to let the ocean air in, taking a deep breath, before turning back to finish unpacking her bags.  
  
“We’ve got to share a bed, eh?” He flopped down on the rich duvet and arched an eyebrow at her.  
  
“We’re newlyweds. I expect we’ll be doing a lot more than just sharing a bed.” She shrugged out of her jacket.  
  
“Can’t wait,” Eggsy smirked.  
  
“I’m certain you can’t.” Merlin’s voice purred over their headsets. “You’ve got a few hours before your work really begins. Enjoy it.”  
  
“Oh fuck, _yes_!” He kicked his Oxfords off and jumped onto his knees. “You know Rox, you gotta act like you like me, yeah?”  
  
“I _do_ like you, Eggsy,” she finished hanging her clothes, the silken fabric of a gown falling from her fingers.  
  
“Wot’s that?” His breath left his body in a rush.  
  
“Just in case we go to dinner, yes?” She turned to smile at him shyly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Can’t very well go wearing a suit?”  
  
“Bloody hell…” He hissed air out between his teeth. “You’re gonna be _crackin’,_ yeah?”  
  
She flushed with pleasure, smoothing her hair down again, “Eggsy, you could have some discretion.”  
  
“Eggsy Unwin doesn’t have a discreet bone in his body,” Harry droned to them and Eggsy felt his blood run cold. “I’m monitoring for Merlin while he takes care of the recruits. Do try to keep it in your pants until the sun has set?”  
  
His delight faded and he dropped onto the edge of the bed, silence falling in the room. There was no move Roxy could make to comfort him with Harry there, with Harry watching, no words she could say that he wouldn’t hear.  
  
“Let’s go to the pool, Eggsy? You couldn’t stop talking about the sun earlier.” She curled her fingers into the fabric of his blazer.  
  
“Something the matter, Galahad?” Harry asked.  
  
He gave a swift jerk of his head and watched Roxy walk into the loo to change. How could he relax with Harry’s voice in his ear and the involuntary pressure in his trousers?  
  
“Well, that’s good. You should change. Don’t just sit there dumbstruck.” His voice stroked up Eggsy’s spine like warm butter, feeling a bit like he might be devoured by the sound of it - and that he would eagerly allow it.  
  
The impassive, cold fury that had been so desperate to keep hold of him had finally passed. He had seen how Harry was suffering, and not everything had returned to normal, but the pull of his heart had returned and the effect of Harry’s presence had as well.

 

* * *

 

He relaxed again once they were out in the blinding sunlight, basking in the heat with a little more sunscreen than necessary on his skin - he wasn’t about to risk getting into a fight with a sunburn.

“I could use a surveillance post up on the overlook, Galahad,” Harry said briskly and he grunted an acknowledgement.

He’d rather lay in the sun until he was _bacon_.  
  
“You wanna go jump, Rox?” He looked over at her, finding her reading something on her tablet with concentration on her face.  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
“The cliffs? You can cliff jump here.” He gestured to the rock formations. “There’s a ferry that’ll take us.”  
  
She considered him over the rim of her sunglasses, eyes critical, “You know I don’t like heights.”  
  
“Yeah, but… I mean, you’ve conquered that, yeah?”  
  
She chewed her bottom lip and glanced up to the cliffs. “Oh… _alright_.”  
  
“Yes! We’ll jump together. I’ll be right there with you, yeah?” He leapt to his feet, glancing around the poolside. They would need to drop a sensor off discretely. “I’ll go ask about the ride, yeah?”  

The ride to the cliffs was sparsely populated, though both agents were on edge when they noticed a few people still clothed. He could feel Lancelot tense beside him, her fingers quick to curl into her palm - resisting the urge to rush to her weapon. Eggsy reasoned that a few would ride up just to see the sights, look at the ancient castle not the hilltop, but he caught Roxy's knee regardless. 

"We're almost like a real couple," Roxy whispered and he snorted.

"A real couple sits like this," he caught the inside of her thigh and pulled her over, slinging an arm around her bare shoulders. "Right?" He made a pretense of pressing a kiss to her temple to glance back at the people behind them. 

"Maybe where you come from," Roxy teased. "What do you see?"

"Nuffin'. A few university blokes and an elderly Japanese couple with cameras." He shifted back around.

"D'you think they've got anyone up on the cliffs?" She leaned into the crook of his neck, nestling her head on his shoulder. 

"You could _try_ to talk like a normal couple," Harry interjected with an underlying ‘ _amateurs’_ on his voice.

"What do normal people talk about?" Roxy asked at a dead whisper and Eggsy snorted.

The tram slowed as they reached the top of the cliff, and Eggsy offered a hand to help Roxy down to a "Nice manners." from his ear piece. 

"Thanks very much," Roxy answered for him.

Eggsy watched her walk to the edge, running his eyes over the curve of her ass. They spent half their time together flirting and the other half drunk - as good a friendship as any. He had to admit, though, Roxy Morton wasn't a bad looking girl - well fit in fact - and she was his best friend, but despite all that there was no romantic spark between them. He cared for her deeply... but she was no Harry Hart.

"If you stare any harder, I think she might implode, Galahad," Harry's biting commentary made him wince. He'd forgotten he was wearing glasses.

Somewhere beyond his perception a guide was informing them of the risks of cliff jumping, the sound muddled against the roar of the surf below and the screech of seagulls. He would have liked to stand on the edge for days, looking out over the depths of the Mediterranean, searching the ever shifting expanse of blues and greens until they had bent to his will. 

"You ready, Rox?" He turned to see her framed by ancient stones and the grey earth of the mountainside, her brown eyes narrowed into the sun.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she sighed. "Together, E?" She reached out and entwined their fingers.

"Of course. I won't let you go." He offered her a reassuring smile. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to."

"If I can shoot a missile and fall from atmosphere, I can jump off a bloody cliff," she told him fiercely and a new respect bloomed in his chest; a fierce pride in how far his friend had come.

"I'm king of the world!" He threw his arms up, a breathless impulse that flooded his body with adrenaline, and jumped, hearing Roxy's echoing cry beside him.

On his way down, Roxy's shrieks cutting the air, he picked up the ‘tsk tsk’ from Harry’s microphone - but something else caught his eye. The smallest, almost imperceptible flicker of a rifle scope.  
  
Water rushed around him before he knew it, swallowing him and stealing what little breath he’d held onto through the jump. He glanced up at the ridgeline, chest heaving. 

“You are being watched,” Arthur said as their heads broke the water. “Now would be the best time to throw them off.”

The best thing to do after a daredevil dive? Well, there was only one other adrenaline rush Eggsy could think of, the best kind of rush - what was better than a victory kiss?

"Give us a kiss, then?" He drew her closer and Lancelot shot him a nasty look, bracing herself on his chest in the cold Mediterranean. “Make it convincing.”

“Yeah, alright.” Her first kiss was soft and sweet against his lips, but he caught his hand against the back of her neck and kissed her hard. He nipped her bottom lip and delved his tongue into her mouth and kissed her until she was leaning into him and kissing him back with her fingers combing through his hair and one of her legs hitched around his thighs.

 

* * *

 

Harry Hart, halfway across the continent, nearly snapped his pen in half. He watched Roxy's hand sink into the muscle on Eggsy's shoulders, heard the slick sounds their mouths made together, and when they parted? He heard the faintest " _Wow_ " from Lancelot's lips.

Wow was right. He imagined that having his mouth fucked by Eggsy Unwin's tongue would leave him just as fucking breathless.

Jealousy exploded into his stomach, alighting his innards as if he'd swallowed a hand grenade, and he made it the rest of the way - his pen cracking open and leaking ink onto the table.  
  
“Head back to the hotel. You’re clear for now.” He tried to keep his voice level, raking his fingers through his hair.  
  
A surge of vindication filled him that evening before they were due for dinner, and also a rather sudden understanding of exactly _why_ Merlin found his job so entertaining… Watching Eggsy struggle with suspenders against the slight sunburn he’d accrued despite his repeated attempts to forestall it gave him a rather unreasonable amount of delight.  
  
“You look dashing, Eggsy,” Roxy said. “I was quite unaware you were capable of it.”  
  
“Yeh? I’m not always a Chav.” He adjusted his sleeves. “D’you need any help?” His fingers caught the silk tie of her robe.  
  
“Nope. Keep your fingers to yourself,” she said playfully and vanished into the lavatory with the bit of fabric Harry was convinced had been created simply to torture him.  
  
Kingsman agents weren’t forbidden from fraternization - of course, there had rarely been any cause for such a rule - and he supposed that Roxy was a good fit for Eggsy - young and beautiful, strong and fierce; together they would lead the Kingsman organization into its future. Did that stop the spines of jealousy that sank into the muscle of his heart like old wool? 

“Not _bloody_ likely,” Harry grumbled.  
  
“Sorry?” Eggsy looked up at the camera that had been placed in the corner of the room, fastening his jacket.  
  
“I said, it wasn’t likely that you’d be able to keep your hands to yourself,” Harry answered.  
  
The tension in his body made his muscles ache, his back sore from hunching over the control station for hours on end, but that was only the half of it - the other half was, obviously, pure and unadulterated _regret_.  
  
Every moment he watched them, every moment he realized how far Eggsy had gone without him, every moment he wasn’t by Galahad’s side (figuratively or literally) was absolute torture. Nothing had been fixed, even when he’d woken up with the scent of Eggsy’s skin surrounding him - all it meant was that his apprentice had taken pity on him.  
  
 _Pity_. Oh, how he hated pity. He was a Kingsman. He didn’t need to be pitied, didn’t want to be. He was a trained killer, an agent with a swift strike and swifter mind, yet Eggsy Unwin reduced him to tender muscles and a subtle panic that hung just beneath his skin like the breathtaking moment before a kettle boiled. Eggsy managed to humble him in a way he had never felt before.  
  
“Crikey! I think we’ll have to keep this sham up, yeah?” He focused on the screen again to see Roxy approaching her ‘husband’ in the slinky lilac gown he had seen on the hanger before. _Oh_ Merlin was going to _pay_. “I’ll marry you just to see that dress some more.”  
  
“Shut up,” she chided. Harry didn’t miss the flush to her cheeks, though he tried to dismiss it as a product of her usual attire - to trade out a suit for a few strips of lace and chiffon must have been quite the change. “Are we ready to go?”  
  
He watched Eggsy’s shoulders stiffen again as Lancelot glanced up at the camera behind him, as if he had very nearly forgotten that Harry was listening. Strange how that happened with a beautiful woman in the room.  
  
“You’re cleared, Galahad, Lancelot.” He eased his words out, calculating the amount of emotion he allowed into each one. “Enjoy yourselves.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner flew by, either due to the quickest service he’d ever experienced or the constant stream of conversation from Roxy. She had little trouble making small talk, entertaining him with stories of her friends from before Kingsman, pulling words out of him like pulling teeth. He would never feel completely comfortable with high society. He could blend in, fit the space they desire from him, but he’d never separate himself entirely from the Eggsy that had made the desperate call from a police station.  
  
Harry noticed. Harry with his gentle instruction, never losing his patience when Eggsy made a mistake, talking him through any parts of the menu that left Eggsy dumbfounded, Harry with soft words of encouragement deep in Eggsy’s ear, taking his breath with each new word.

Every time he heard Harry speak was like turning the pages of a favorite book. Words and phrases, so familiar to him, discovered anew against crisp linen and leather bindings. If he was more focused, more cautious, more determined in the next few hours - it was only to hear Harry Hart’s voice again.

 


	5. When you realize.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was only so much of this he could take. Only so much he could handle while injured and exhausted. He’d rather Harry Hart’s voice _fucked right off_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Hope you enjoy! Shorter chapters mean more updates for y'all.

He woke to the burn of ropes at his wrists and the ache of a stiff back. His head felt like it has been split open by the bar of light slipping in between dusty curtains, eyes squinting to shield his throbbing brain. He didn’t like these sorts of missions, having only been subjected to one of them before, and that time Lancelot had crashed in a window and saved his arse from certain death.  
  
“Where am I?” He asked hoarsely, always the first question out of his mouth in any situation. He had been trained for this, but that didn’t seem to make it any less terrifying. He was propped up in a wooden chair, his wrists bound around a rung behind him, and with no one about he risked an experimental tug, feeling very little give in the wood.  
  
 _They didn’t tie my ankles!_ He smiled at the realisation and kicked his feet out. He wasn’t wearing his Oxfords, a smart move on their part, and he couldn’t hear the crackle of the Kingsman earpiece anymore - but at least his feet weren’t tied down. _They were fuckin’ thorough._

“Rox?” His mouth was dry, too dry, and he recognized the symptoms of rohypnol overdose. His own organization had roofied him enough times, after all. “Roxy?”  
  
He heard rushed words in Italian, footsteps on ancient wood, and adjusted himself in his seat. Out of the corner of his eye a light caught on something and he squinted, trying to focus. _Glasses_. He’d had a pair of glasses in his jacket pocket.  
  
“My bloody coat,” he said a little mournfully upon seeing the silk lining ripped free from his blazer. “Harry’s gonna kill me…”  
  
He looked up when two men, both bearing M16s, approached. All he needed was the glasses. If he could get to the glasses without bleeding out everything would be okay. That, however, seemed as though it was going to be a bit of a task.  
  
“Who are you working for?” He heard the question and rolled his eyes, wincing when the tip of an M16 dropped between his legs.  
  
“You should just skip to the part where you kill me, bruv,” Eggsy challenged, settling his feet against the ground beneath him. “You ain’t gonna get nuffin’ outta me.” But his eyes were trained on the barrel now pointed directly at his taint. _You know this could be better?_  
  
“Who do you work for?” The man asked again and Eggsy sighed. “I’ll blow your balls off if you don’t answer.”  
  
Eggsy didn’t have time to waste waiting to see how many others there were, he wasn’t about to become a gelding over a few thugs, so he tilted his weight and lifted the chair. He didn’t dare flinch at the first spray from the gun, spinning to smash the legs against his assailant.  
  
 _Bloody sturdy chair_. He dodged a hit from the second man, kicking him in the stomach and finally breaking the backrest against the gunman’s head. He wiggled free of the slack ropes and picked up one of the rifles - he didn’t particularly like semi-automatics, but he supposed beggars couldn’t be choosy.  
  
“You’re bloody joking,” he murmured, turning the glasses between his fingers. “First my fuckin’ jacket and now my fuckin’ glasses. Harry’s gonna _kill_ me.” He searched for a phone, hearing fast approaching boots from down the hall.

“Roxy!” He called her name, firing a round into the skull of an approaching kidnapper. Tucking his jacket under his arm Eggsy started off, socked feet quiet against the floors. He ducked into each room, phone braced against his shoulder, and prayed he would find Roxy soon.  
  
“Hello? How may I help you?” A male voice came over the line as Eggsy braced his back against the wall, peering around a corner to count how many men he was up against.  
  
“This is Galahad. Patch me through to Merlin,” he said, sotto voce. “Bugger protocol.”

He took out several of the guards, turning the corner as he waited for Merlin to be connected. _Roxy_. She was his main focus now. Find Roxy. Bring her back safely.  
  
“Galahad!” Merlin sounded relieved, if a little groggy, and a burst of affection warmed his heart. Hearing a familiar voice was enough to fill him with strength.

“We’re in some sort of old manor. Fuckin’ things about to come down around me,” Eggsy muttered and reloaded with a magazine he’d nicked from a body.   
  
“Where’s Lancelot?” Merlin’s question struck him cold.  
  
“I dunno yet, mate, give me a bloody chance.” He tried not to imagine all the things they could have done to her, taking a steadying breath in the warm air of the house. “How long we been gone?”  
  
“Two days. Harry’s been-” Eggsy swore, dropping the phone into his pocket. He didn’t have time for Merlin or _Arthur_ with heavily armored thugs just down the stairs.  
  
“Roxy!” He called her name again. He had a full magazine and a semi-automatic - he wasn’t too terribly worried about a few mercenaries. “Roxy, answer me!”  
  
“Eggsy!” Her voice, more so than even Merlin’s, calmed the frayed edges of his nerves and settled his weak stomach.  
  
The crack of hand against his colleague's face destroyed the last of his control and he took the stairs two at a time, leaping off the last ones to land feet first in a merc’s chest, whipping around to sweep another’s ankles.  
  
He had saved the world. He could handle a few cheap mercs. A few cheap mercs with brass knuckles that whistled when they passed and weapons that stung when a spray of bullets caught him across the chest. A few cheap mercs that, after what felt like hours, lay bleeding in a circle around Roxy’s chair.  
  
“Holy shit, Eggsy,” she said as he cut her loose.  
  
“Did they hurt you?” He caught her chin gently.  
  
“You’re hurt,” she countered and he shook his head.  
  
“I asked you if they hurt you, Rox.” He wondered what his face must have looked like, how murderous his glare must have seemed to her. He would kill them all again, break their necks until their spines split if he had to.  
  
“No. They were just asking me about our organization when you started shooting,” she answered. “You’re bleeding, Eggsy.”  
  
“You’re not wearing a bloody dress again. Fuckin’ suits from now on,” He swore and helped her to her feet, draping his jacket around her shoulders and shoving the rifle into her arms. “Let’s ge’ outta here. Stay behind me.” He picked up two pistols, shoving spare magazines into his pockets.

 

* * *

 

When he woke in the Kingsman infirmary, he found Harry by his bed. Harry with his tired eyes closed, dozing in the leather armchair. Harry with strands of hair dripping onto his brow. Harry with his jacket hanging on a hook, collar loose around his throat, and the leather of his holster slipping over the edge of his shoulder.

Whatever relief he felt upon seeing him again faded when the man’s eyes opened and settled on his face. He had it coming, he could see it in the lines of Harry’s face and the way his lips parted around words Eggsy didn’t want to hear.

Harry Hart was silenced only by Merlin’s glare as he entered the room, something Eggsy was unspeakably grateful for as he relaxed back into his pillows. Merlin would be the one to ask the questions, something Harry should have known. Questions about what had happened, how had they been caught, and what information they had gleaned from the carnage Eggsy had left behind. 

He droned his answers, feeling a little empty after his killing spree, his voice only faltering when the nurse approached to check the only wound worth fussing over - a nasty hole in his bicep, dug out during the firefight by a stray round. He winced as she redressed the padding, glancing around to see Harry watching him with a steely gaze.  
  
He was glad for the break in company that the nurse brought, generally displeased with the fact that Harry spent most of his day hovering in or around his hospital room - scolding Eggsy when he felt it was necessary and arguing when he felt it wasn’t.

“You both could have been killed! While you were busy-”

He took it back. There was only so much of this he could take. Only so much he could handle while injured and exhausted. He’d rather Harry Hart’s voice _fucked right off_.

“Can I get you a ladder to get the fuck off my back?” Eggsy snarled, sitting up in his hospital bed. “You’ve done nothin’ but yell at me since I got back! Don’t you have work to do or summat? Or is there something _else_ fuckin’ bothering you ‘cause I’m gettin’ real tired of the Spanish Inquisition.”  
  
Harry sank back into the armchair, running his fingers over the leather experimentally.  
  
“I didn’t mean to get caught. Honestly…”  
  
“It’s not about that,” Harry murmured. “You know it and I know it.”  
  
Eggsy curled his fingers over the bandage on his bicep, looking away from his mentor. He knew it, but he hadn’t thought that _Harry_ knew. Or that Harry cared.  
  
“I have a…  tendency to bottle things up.”  
  
“D’you?”  
  
“It… seems to emerge at the worst times.” He heard a wry smile on Harry’s voice, and turned his head back. “That was _my_ mistake and I took it out on you. I missed the scanners. I had no idea that they were onto us.”  
  
Eggsy wondered what he was thinking. This was the second time he saw Harry looking a bit like a scolded child - he wasn’t sure he liked it.  
  
“As you would say… I cocked it up.” Harry’s bitter smile was a knife to his heart, an edged blade that flayed his chest open and left him breathless. “I am sorry, Eggsy.”  
  
 _What are you sorry for?_ He wanted to ask. Sorry for abandoning him? Sorry for leaving without a word? Sorry for _fucking_ what?  
  
“Eggsy?” A knock at the door drew Harry to his feet, and Roxy entered without ceremony. “Arthur.”  
  
“Lancelot,” Harry said stiffly.  
  
Eggsy didn’t miss _that_. Harry Hart? Stiff? He may have been a gentleman, may have been a bit of a posh prick, but Harry was _never_ stiff. Stiff was impolite, stiff was an opinion wrapped around neutral words.  
  
“Merlin says you’re needed at the Table.” Roxy walked over to Eggsy’s bedside. From the look she gave him, he was certain she hadn’t missed it either.  
  
“Right away,” Harry nodded and pulled his jacket on, eyes lingering on them for the briefest moment. “I will check on you later, Galahad.”  
  
“I’m sure,” Eggsy grumbled.  
  
“That was bizarre,” Roxy said at a dead whisper.  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He shifted his legs to let her sit on the bed.

Seeing Roxy again brought back the few memories he had of the night they’d been taken - dinner, talking on the balcony with champagne, dancing in muted moonlight. They had played their parts well, at least they thought they had, but by the time they’d returned to their suite the drugs had begun to set in. The last thing he remembered was scrabbling for his glasses, trying to tuck them inside his suit jacket - fighting the drugged exhaustion.  
  
“Where did we go wrong?” he murmured, running the fingers of his good hand through his hair. “What did we do?”  
  
“They picked up our receivers. Merlin’s working on making sure the encryption wasn’t broken.” Roxy pulled at a string on the coverlet. “It wasn’t your fault, Eggsy.”  
  
“I’m not saying it was.”  
  
It was just that this was his first big mission since Harry had returned as Arthur. His first mission to prove himself. Valentine? All the times afterward? They were nothing compared to the pressure of making Harry proud - of proving that Harry hadn’t made the wrong choice. Before, he hadn’t had anything to lose. Harry had been dead, what he thought mattered little, and Eggsy had been free to do as he liked. He’d grown used to that, having nothing to lose.  
  
Even if Harry had watched every mission, even if Harry had been a silent spectator through it all… Eggsy hadn’t known. Simple psychology. If he was afraid of failure, afraid of letting Harry down, he _would_. And he _had_. Repeatedly.

“Where’d he go?” He threw off the blanket.   
  
“Not this again…” Roxy jumped to her feet. “Where are you going? You’re not cleared to leave!”  
  
He was already shucking his pyjamas, jerking on the jeans she had brought him and tightening his belt with his good hand as she spoke.  
  
“Eggsy…” her voice had softened beneath the crinkle of the crisp linen shirt that he slid his injured arm into. “What are you going to do?”  
  
“I’m going to bloody _talk_ to him.” The words burst from his mouth before he could stop them. “I’ve had enough of this. Everything’s gone to hell and I’m tired of it.”  
  
“Really?” The incredulity came off a bit sarcastic and he turned to scowl at her, buttoning his shirt with gritted teeth. “Are you really going to talk to him?”  
  
“Of course? Whatchu think I’m gonna do?” He tucked his shirt in, not wanting to start the conversation with Harry with a criticism. “I should apologize.”  
  
 _“I am sorry, Eggsy,”_ Harry had said. Maybe it was time Eggsy apologized in return - for disappointing him, for not shooting J.B., for making a mess of every opportunity that Harry had given him.

“Pride goeth before a fall.” He let his fingers curl into the bar on the door. “You know… I’m not as smart as I think I am sometimes.” He admitted and left his friend behind in the room.  
  
“No… You most certainly are not,” he heard her agree through the door.


	6. Words unspoken.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he did make it out alive, he would begin the plans for Merlin’s sudden and violent death.

“Thank you, Agravaine.” He folded his glasses and pressed his fingertips to his temples, leaning against the firm wood of the table before him. Headaches, _migraines_ , came more easily to him now. He didn't like being _delicate_ as Merlin had ever so gracefully put it. He had never been delicate. Even as a boy.

He had been a handful as a child, running wild when his nannies weren’t desperately reigning him in. Horseback riding, fencing, riflery. He’d been scheduled from the moment he’d been born. It was no surprise, then, that he had been hand picked and selected for the Kingsman organization.  
  
He supposed he had seen a little of himself in Eggsy: brash and unthinking, proud and loyal. Those were attributes he had tempered and alternately encouraged in himself and others. They were advantages in some situations. In Portovenere Eggsy hadn't thought too long about how to escape, he had merely done it. Another agent might have tried to sit it out, wait for the others to find him - Eggsy was different. It was what had set him apart from his fellow recruits: his leadership skills, his quick thinking under pressure, his action where others would remain inactive.

“Harry?” He looked up to the sound of the door opening, dropping his hands onto the table.  
  
“What are you doing up here? Shouldn’t you be in the infirmary?” Harry frowned, rolling a pen between his fingers.  
  
“I’m fine,” dismissed Eggsy. Harry was glad to see him dressing well, even in casual clothes, though the jeans were off the peg and a little too casual for his taste. “Can I?” Eggsy’s fingers curled around the back of Harry’s right hand chair.  
  
“You remembered to ask.” Harry smiled fondly. “Now if only you’d learn to knock.”  
  
“I told you, I don’t knock unless I’m robbin’ the place,” Eggsy said easily, dropping into the chair and stretching his legs out.  
  
“Did you come in here to relax or did you have a purpose?” Harry looked him over. Eggsy’s shoulders stiffened and he shifted his weight, running the fingers of his good hand through his hair.  
  
As had been the case for some months, _silence_ was king between them. A pregnant silence filled with unspoken words, broken promises, and shattered expectations. The silence of two people whose stood on constantly shifting ground.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Eggsy had taken a breath and exhaled both exactly what Harry needed and what he hadn’t expected.  
  
“I’m sorry that I let you down. I should have trusted you. I should have trusted Kingsman. I didn’t. I… was scared.” Eggsy leaned forward, bracing his face in his hands. “I thought you’d died knowing I… thinking I was…”  
  
He watched his apprentice falter, barely daring to breathe. Everything he’d desperately desired to hear for over a year was flooding from Eggsy’s lips… yet it didn’t _feel_ like it should have. It felt like a breakdown, like the world was crumbling beneath him.  
  
“I’m so bloody sorry.” The muscles in Eggsy’s shoulders trembled, the linen of his shirt tight against them in the dim light filtering in through the office windows. Eggsy seemed out of place here, in the elegance of the Table Room, almost ethereal in his difference. Here, in a place where everything was buttoned down and drawn tight, where the fate of the world was so often decided, and the ages old adage of a stiff upper lip was upheld. Here Eggsy’s pride shattered and collapsed and left Harry empty and sad.  
  
In the absence of a response he calmed, and Harry took a breath. A breath to steady his nerves, to right his thoughts, to clear his head. Anger had filled him, anger at himself for letting Eggsy think he hadn’t believed in him, at himself for withdrawing and leaving him on his own, and at himself for not saying something sooner.  
  
“I always believed in you, Eggsy.” His voice sounded more level than his head felt. “I was disappointed I… I was disappointed in myself and in you. Disappointed because I felt I hadn’t prepared you well enough, disappointed that you didn’t trust me. I didn’t know what to say to you. I said I would fix everything when I got back and I _meant_ that. I believed you could do more, could do better, and I had every intention of giving you that chance.”  
  
Eggsy lifted his head ever so slightly, damp eyes meeting Harry’s.  
  
“I would have given you as many chances as you needed to succeed, but yes - you didn’t trust me. I was hurt and angry, I let those emotions control me.” He reached out, leaning over the table to catch his hand against his protégé’s face. “No matter how disappointed I was, no matter how hurt I was, I _never_ stopped believing in you. You were not a mistake, and I am _proud_ to have you seated in my place at this Table.”

He wasn’t prepared for the way the tension shattered like fine crystal - suddenly and all at once. Eggsy moved like lightning, his chair falling to the rug beneath him, and Harry found himself pulled from his seat and wound up in powerful arms, the rough scrape of an unshaven beard against his cheek and the invasive scent of Old Spice in his nostrils secondary to the warmth of Eggsy’s body.  
  
“I thought I’d lost you.” His voice broke, the same as it had the day Harry had surprised him, but it was less desperate, less distraught, and more hopeful.  
  
“I thought you had, too,” Harry murmured and let Eggsy rest against him, cradling the back of his head in gentle fingers. “I’m sorry.”  
  
They remained together for longer than Harry cared to admit, cloaked in a new manner of silence that eased the ache in his chest. With Eggsy’s soft breathing against the side of his neck and the faint beat of his heart against Harry’s chest, he could finally believe things were falling into place. It wasn’t perfect, not everything had been mended, but for once he could relax. They were finally standing on solid ground together, even if their solid ground was each other.

A knock at the door, soft and wary, had Eggsy drawing away from him, but not too far. For a hair’s breadth of a moment they lingered and Harry learned that there were flecks of brown in Eggsy’s blue eyes. Eyes framed by dark lashes that fluttered down Harry’s face and back up again.  
  
 _Shit_.  
  
“Come in, Merlin.” He ripped himself away and righted his suit jacket, impressed at how quickly Eggsy made himself look casual, stepping on the leg of his chair and righting it.  
  
“Oh, are you two talking again?” Merlin looked between them, genuinely surprised. “Good to know.” If he carefully avoided looking at the damp sheen on Eggsy’s face it was nearly impossible to tell.  
  
“What you got?” Eggsy asked, folding his arms over his chest.  
  
“Well something for _you,_ Galahad,” his voice pitched into a laugh as he handed Eggsy a file, “And something for Arthur as well.”  
  
“I’m guessing you found something,” Harry said as he flipped his file open.  
  
“You’d be guessing correctly. Glasses, gentlemen,” Merlin instructed. “The smuggling group Galahad single-handedly dispatched,” here he smiled, “is connected to another group we’ve been keeping an eye on.”  
  
Harry tore his eyes away from Eggsy, surprised at how enthralled the man seemed to be in his file, and focused on the screen above him.  
  
“An American businessman linked to the Cosa Nostra has been glad-handing a few world leaders, and as we’ve been trying very hard to keep the wrong sort _out_ of office, we’ve been monitoring him and his movements.”  
  
“What’s the connection?” Harry asked, lips curling into a frown.  
  
“His company has been buying huge stock in various chemical industries, including but not limited to: several drug companies that are researching certain cancer medications and another that quietly worked with the American government to develop Agent Orange during the war in Vietnam.”  
  
“You’re thinking they’re trying to take advantage of the chaos from Valentine’s plan, hoping people won’t notice.” Harry ran his fingers over his mouth, mind working. “But to what end?”  
  
“We’re not sure yet, but those smugglers Galahad and Lancelot were so lucky to have dealt with were waiting for a shipment of Uranium from the Iranian government. The problem here lies within our businessman’s forethought. He’s bunkered and hard to reach, popular and charismatic, and incredibly private.”  
  
“So we get someone into his inner circle,” Harry said passively.  
  
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Merlin grinned. “Our dear Frederico Abbaccia has a son named Emilio. A son who, from what intelligence we’ve gathered, happens to prefer the company of men.”  
  
So _that_ was why Eggsy had yet to speak.  
  
“You want to drop someone in deep and see if he bites, yeah?” Eggsy closed his folder, face unreadable.  
  
“A lover can be swept into the inner circle without question. Very quickly you’ll be exposed to the upper echelon of Abbaccia’s Famiglia, and perhaps Abbaccia himself. You’ll have to crank up the charm here, Eggsy, because we only have one chance.”  
  
Harry wanted to ask _why_. Why Eggsy? But he knew the answer without needing to think about it. Galahad was their youngest male agent, handsome in a devilish way, and intelligent enough to maneuver his way through the finite bindings of a mafioso’s inner circle - he was perfect for the part.  
  
“I can do it,” Eggsy said firmly. “When do I leave?”  
  
“Abbaccia and Emilio will be attending a gala event here in London in a fortnight. You will make your first contact there.” Harry could feel Merlin’s eyes on him and he clutched his hands around the file in his fingers. “You will have a handler for these missions. A second. Arthur will be posing as your valet and butler. He will be your contact for when issues arise.”  
  
All of the irritation he’d previously felt for Merlin vanished at that moment - he was letting Harry keep an eye on him. He wasn’t _entirely_ sure how that would go, not with the flicker of ocean blue eyes that lingered in his memory and left him breathless, but he was a professional. A gentleman. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. 

“Harry’s gonna be my butler?” He didn’t _dare_ look at Eggsy’s face, knowing all too well the blistering grin that awaited him. “Are you bloody _mad_?” He heard Eggsy turn to Merlin.  
  
“I wonder that myself, quite frequently.”  
  
If he did make it out alive, he would begin the plans for Merlin’s sudden and violent death.

 

* * *

 

“Did he say _why_?” Roxy asked as he taped his wrist.  
  
“Why I needed a handler? I’m assumin’ cause I’m gonna be in deep?” Eggsy answered.  
  
Sparring, keeping their skills sharp, was a task Eggsy and Roxy took _very_ seriously - it had _nothing_ to do with the recruits going through their training on the other side of the gym - and he needed to blow off steam.  
  
They squared off, circling like cats on the wrestling mat, their figures reflected in the full length mirrors on the walls. This place reminded him of his days as a gymnast, some of the best days he’d had, practicing routines until the sun had set and dinner after meets with his coach - things he’d been forced to give up.  
  
Roxy struck first and he expected it, catching her fist and sweeping her feet.  
  
“So this is a trust building thing?” She took him down with her, rolling to pin him with a knee against his groin.  
  
“Cuttin’ it a little close, Rox,” he hissed. “Yeah I guess? Trust buildin’.”  
  
She hadn’t asked about his conversation with Harry, and he was glad. Everything that had happened, all the things they’d said, were still sinking in even two days later. The air had been cleared, for the most part, and a good number of his regrets wiped clean - but now a _new_ problem had arisen.  
  
“How’s that… other thing?” She helped him up, arching an eyebrow.  
  
“Y’know you’s abou’ as cheeky as they come?” His accent slipped and he ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s… there.”  
  
That breathless moment returned to him, how he’d shown his hand by glancing at Harry’s mouth, how his chest had tightened at the tell - how Harry’s pupils had dilated ever so slightly in the faint sunlight.  
  
“Ah,” she exhaled knowingly. “Well, don’t stand around looking dreamy.”  
  
“I’m not dream-” He jutted his chin, much to her apparent delight, and took the first shot this time.  
  
She countered him and before he knew it they had finally passed into a fluid fight - striking and taking strikes, hands, feet and limbs colliding in a no holds barred battle for dominance. She was smaller than him, lighter, but he had power behind his hits and more flexibility. A flexibility he put to good use by bending around her fists and feet.  
  
“You’re not bloody fair!” She panted as he stood on his hands and touched his toes to the top of his head. “How the hell do you do that?”  
  
“Practice.” He dropped his legs open, flexing his feet to feel the burn behind his knees, before righting himself and folding his knees. “Gonna hurt tomorrow though,” he rubbed the healing flesh on his arm.  
  
“If you do that in a real fight you’ll get your balls shot off.” He jerked his head around to find Harry sitting by the side of the mats.  
  
“Yeah?” A thought occurred to him and he glanced at Roxy. “You know I’ve never sparred with you before, Harry.”  
  
“I don’t think you’d want to spar with me.” The little click of his tongue, the way the corner of his mouth turned up, all of it made Eggsy’s blood boil a little higher. 

“Oh I think I do,” he said as he scrambled to his feet.    
  
“I only came here to tell you that you’re having supper with me tonight. Seven sharp, if you’d please.” Harry adjusted his tie.  
  
“Supper? What for?” Eggsy couldn’t quite decide if he was being played or not.  
  
“Seven. _Sharp_.” Harry pointed at him. “If you’re late I’ll eat all of your food as well.”  
  
He groaned and flopped back onto the mat beneath him, not missing the sly grin on Roxy’s face.  
  
“Don’t say a fuckin’ thing.” He warned and she shrugged it off, snorting a laugh out her nose.


	7. Isn't it romantic?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he was a few minutes early leaving his house he tried not to notice, straightening his jacket on his way down his front steps and starting off for Harry’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two songs from tonight's chapter:
> 
> [Moon River](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7SI7N22k_A) by Audrey Hepburn and Henry Mancini  
> [Isn't It Romantic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pwdbGSZ7CsU) by Ella Fitzgerald

If he was a few minutes early leaving his house he tried not to notice, straightening his jacket on his way down his front steps and starting off for Harry’s.   
  
It was hard to pretend that his feet didn’t know where they were going. Hard to pretend that he hadn’t walked the sidewalks time and again until he had memorized the very feel of the concrete beneath his shoes. Hard to pretend that for a time he had simply walked to the foot of Harry’s flat and looked up into the windows, praying the man would be standing there.

Now he knew that Harry _would_ be there, that he would be completely alone with him again for the first time in… since he’d died. That was a sobering thought. This time there would be no Roxy to buffer them, no Merlin to walk in and interrupt. This time he had no lifeline, no safety net - and that thought had him swallowing tension down and shoving the sleeves of his jacket up more than any deadly mission.  
  
“Eggsy,” Harry greeted as soon as the door was open, eyes flicking over Eggsy’s attire. Whisky, that was what Harry’s irises reminded him of. Of good scotch that hung in the space between his tongue and his throat as spice and succulent maple. “You’re on time.”  
  
“I didn’t want to be invited to dinner only to watch you eat it all.” He stepped through the door and into the scent of tikka masala, watching Harry retreat to the kitchen as he slipped his shoes off. “Can I help? With anything?”  
  
“No, thank you, you’re fine where you are.” He expected the answer, shrugging out of his blazer and hanging it on a peg. “I wasn’t aware henleys were a clothing choice of yours.”  
  
“Ah… Rox took me shopping. Beat me over the ‘ead if I even _looked_ at a hoodie.” He smiled at the memory, pushing his sleeves further up his forearms. “Said I couldn’t live my life swinging between chav and Kingsman.”  
  
“Well she was right about that.” Harry glanced over, appraising him once more, and Eggsy straightened his shoulders under his gaze. He felt out of place in Harry’s flat, cramming his hands into the pockets of dark jeans, that somehow seemed less comfortable than his slacks, and wondered just what he was there for.  
  
“Erm… Harry you didn’t say what this was about…” he finally worked up the nerve to speak again.  
  
“We will be working together and living together for a few weeks, at minimum. I thought it best that I not only refresh your table manners but also your social skills,” here he paused, “and I wanted to know how you were doing.”  
  
“D’you?” He leaned into the cutout, ducking his head low. “I’ve been alright.” He tapped his toe against the expensive rug beneath him, shaking the tension from his muscles. “Can’t wait to get back into the field.”  
  
“I imagine. You’ve always been restless.” Harry flipped the naan from the oven, setting the plate down on the counter. “I don’t think I should have to ask if you’re hungry.”  
  
“Starved and this smells moreish.” He relished the easy smile on Harry’s face, tucked it away in his memories for some dark day. “You should smile more often.”  
  
“As usual, you are not the first person to tell me that.”  
  
_Will I ever be the first person to tell you something_? He wondered, sitting down when instructed. _Is there anything you haven’t heard?_ Eggsy looked down at his plate, realizing that the food suddenly didn’t smell as delicious as it had before.  
  
He was glad for Harry’s ability to carry a conversation, falling into step with him without a second thought. Eggsy soon found himself at ease - with a laugh on his lips and a warmth in his chest that he hadn’t been beholden to for months. He pried information from his mentor, grinning when he managed to wrangle a new story or a gesture to an innocuous memento, and found Harry digging into him as well, pulling up the missions he’d completed in the time Harry had been absent.  
  
He had come expecting tension, expecting an awkward air after all that had been exchanged, and instead ended up sitting splay legged in Harry’s sitting room with a martini in his fingers and a new story halfway off his lips.  
  
“So Roxy looks at me and I’m digging this box up, right, and she goes ‘Galahad hurry up!’ and we’re both bloody knackered by this point so I just snap ‘It’s Gala _hard_.’” He didn’t miss the eyeroll that Harry offered him. “And of course she just _breaks_. ‘Did you just make a fucking pun out of your own codename?’ She cried the rest of the bloody night. Any time Merlin said my codename for a _month_ she howled.”  
  
“I’m so pleased you found it appropriate to disrespect our shared history,” Harry said, but there was cheer on his voice and a smile on his lips to soften the words.

“Gala _hard_.” He slapped his knee and reached his hand up to run his palm over his mouth. “Oh Christ that was a good mission. Poor Roxy.”

“So you’re enjoying it, then?” Harry set his martini glass down, the sound too-loud in the quiet of the living room.   
  
“Couldn’t imagine a better job, Harry, and I have you to thank for all that.” He smiled, draining the last of his drink. 

“You did all the work, Eggsy, I merely gave you the chance.” He stood and adjusted the iPod on the stereo. “Waltz first I think?”  
  
“We still doin’ that?” He set his glass down and righted himself in his seat. He almost protested. _Almost_. Spending time with Harry Hart was never a waste of time, even the most dull and mundane things that Eggsy might once have skipped or tuned out for had become of interest, as long as Harry was involved.

  
Of course the thought of having Harry’s body pressed tightly against his had _nothing_ to do with it.

 

* * *

 

“Yes, Eggsy, we’re still dancing.” He sighed and loosened his tie the rest of the way, pulling it free.

Eggsy snatched the iPod up before Harry could argue, flipping casually through his music, “Lotta stuff on here. Somehow I didn’t expect Lynyrd Skynyrd… Ha!” The soft bars of a familiar song came over the speakers and filled him with a misplaced nostalgia.

"Moon River. Audrey Hepburn... Your choices never cease to amaze me," Harry mused, rolling his sleeves smartly.

"Me mum always watched her movies. ‘Y _es we have no bananas_ '." Eggsy conducted an invisible orchestra with one finger.

"Sabrina," Harry smiled fondly. "Humphrey Bogart and William Holden, a classic."

"I wonder if snobs really do that kind of thing, yeah?" Eggsy was saying, his words overlapping with Harry's.

"Do what?"

"Pay people like me off to stay away?" He looked up, innocence in the lines of his face.

"Perhaps. I wouldn't know," Harry said. "May I have this dance?" He held out his hand, waiting for Eggsy to take it.

"Yeah. Sure," Eggsy's answer came wrapped in a laugh. "I bet you do know, but you won’t tell me.”

“You either think too highly of me or too poorly of me.” Eggsy lingered before him for a moment, hesitant about where to place his hands, and Harry pulled him closer. “I’ll walk you through, don’t worry.”

He tried to ignore the curl of his apprentice’s hand around his waist, the look of concentration that fell over Eggsy’s face as Harry walked him through the steps. _Oh_ he tried to ignore the band of pressure around his heart when Eggsy leaned in, just close enough that Harry could have wrapped his arms around him.

“Step, step, turn,” Harry instructed, squeezing his fingers around Eggsy’s hand. “Keep your shoulders back, Eggsy, and your eyes on my face.”  
  
His apprentice lifted his eyes. Eyes Harry could lose himself in. Eyes so blue they could swallow him up and he’d beg to be drowned. Oh _lord,_ he was in deep.  
  
“What if I miss a step?” Eggsy asked with a challenge on his voice.  
  
“Then you will be punished,” Harry answered, pulling Eggsy closer by the back of his neck. “You must learn that you should hold your dance partner as closely as possible, especially when planning on seducing them.”  
  
“You know, it might be easier to just take ‘im to a club, yeah?” Eggsy offered. “Bit o’ bump’n’grind gets you to the how’s your father a bit quicker?”  
  
Harry would never admit to _just_ how tempting a proposition that was made, a gentleman would never, but needless to say his mouth was a little dry afterwards.  
  
“No, Eggsy,” he sighed.  
  
He gasped when Eggsy turned them, picking up their pace just enough to throw Harry off. Then, with one foot placed smartly between Harry’s, Eggsy dipped him back with impeccable grace and a smirk on his lips. 

It had been a long time since Harry Hart had been _stunned_.  
  
“Why so serious?” Eggsy flashed a grin. “Weren’t you teaching me how to dance?”  
  
He watched the flutter of Eggsy’s lashes once more, breath shallow on his lips. At this distance he could count each individual hair, the intimate space speeding his pulse. At this distance he could see the slight discoloration beneath Eggsy’s eyes, faintly shadowed from lack of sleep. At this distance all he needed to do was slip his fingers into Eggsy’s hair and pull him into a kiss - and Harry had a feeling he would let him- but Eggsy’s arm trembled beneath him, still healing, and they righted themselves. Harry tried to smooth away the thoughts he’d had, with a dust of his hands over his shirt to smother invisible wrinkles, but what little action he managed did nothing for the frayed edges of his nerves.

Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so _sheepish_ before, either.  
  
“You…”  
  
“They taught us to dance in gymnastics. How to waltz and foxtrot and quickstep… our floor routines had music and we needed to know how foot placement and rhythm worked.” Eggsy shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.  
  
Which brought him to another question, “If you knew how to dance… why did you agree?”  
  
“Would you have believed me?” Eggsy pointed out.

But Harry felt there was more, _knew_ there was more. He'd felt it in the moment Eggsy had drawn near him, in the air hanging between their lips, in the very beat of his own heart. There was always more.

"I suppose I wouldn't have. You are very good." Harry smiled. "I apologize for underestimating you."

"It's fine."

There it was again. _Fine._

"Well then we can finish early if you like? I'm sure you have work to do before your next assignment?" 

“No, thanks.”

The moment crystallized when Eggsy caught his fingers and pulled him closer. Harry could hear the crinkle of his own linen shirt, the crunch of carpet beneath Eggsy’s feet, and see the moisture gathered on the edges of the window panes. Somewhere, just outside the range of his consciousness, Moon River had turned over and Ella Fitzgerald crooned from the speakers - but by then Eggsy was chest to chest with him and they were moving wordlessly, dancing in his sitting room in their socks.  
  
Time seemed to slow when Eggsy rested against his shoulder, so intimate a gesture that it felt like a suckerpunch, and Harry curled his hand against the nape of his neck - desperate for contact, for a reciprocation. It had been so long since he’d danced simply to enjoy himself, since he’d taken a breath and settled against someone else’s form - even if that belonged to his former protégé. 

_Former_ because Eggsy was no longer a trainee, he was a fully fledged Kingsman with accolades and missions under his belt and 7 billion saved souls to his name. He had grown into a man while Harry wasn’t looking, had learned and adapted just as he had been asked. He had grown enough to recognize when he had done wrong and owned up to his decisions.

_It’s not Lancelot_ , his gut instinct said to him. Sharp realization, like a cold knife into the warmth of his belly, had him nearly stumbling.

 

* * *

 

_Oh my god we’re dancing_. He had reached out on a whim, hadn’t expected Harry to give in so easily, and now he was leaning against his shoulder with an arm around his trim waist. He was comfortable here, taking in soft breaths of Harry’s cologne and stepping in time with the music, more comfortable in his own skin than ever before.

“ _Isn't it romantic? Merely to be young on such a night as this?”_ The singer’s voice drew memories to the forefront of his mind: dancing with his mother in the living room while Humphrey Bogart swept Audrey Hepburn off her feet, pretending someone would do that to her, give her a good life. He supposed _he_ was Humphrey Bogart in this situation. Or perhaps Harry was, giving him the chance to help her.

“You a’right Harry?” Eggsy lifted his head when their steps faltered.

_“Do you mean that I will fall in love perchance?”_ Ella Fitzgerald, in all her singer’s wisdom, set his heart to racing.  
  
“Yes. I apologize I… misstepped.” Harry’s kind eyes wrinkled at the corners, but his smile didn’t reach. Something else smouldered in the way Harry looked back at him, something deep and wanting that made him loosen his grip on his mentor’s waist and draw back just slightly.  
  
“You uh… want to stop?” He hadn’t realized he was chasing his breath, intakes short and swift around his pulse.  
  
Harry didn’t answer, honeyed eyes soft on Eggsy’s face, and he was forced to swallow. It had been a long time since he’d been scrutinized this much, since he’d allowed himself to be subjected to it.  
  
“See something you like?” He tried to deflect the slimy, writhing feeling that clawed at his insides.  
  
“Mm,” Harry affirmed and he thought his heart might very well crawl out his throat - talk about ruining the moment. “But it’s late and you are running a test tomorrow, yes?”  
  
The air shattered like fine crystal and Eggsy’s shoulders went slack.  
  
“Yeah I… forgot about that.” He didn’t release Harry from his grip, not yet.  
  
“Best not to forget. Merlin will have your head if you’re not careful.” Harry offered another smile. This one warmed Eggsy’s chest like fire and he was forced to swallow whatever feelings had been rising.  
  
“Yeh you’re right,” he breathed. “I’ll get going.” He disentangled himself from Harry’s arms.  
  
He had the distinct feeling that Harry was watching him as he stepped into his shoes and pulled his jacket on, turning his head to find his host leaning against the doorjamb in his shirtsleeves. The look in his eyes, the same as before, burned more brightly this time, but this time Eggsy saw the shadows that framed it… ones he hadn’t known to be there before.  
  
“G’night, Harry.” He accepted the hug goodbye. “S’you tomorrow, yeah?”  
  
“Tomorrow,” Harry confirmed.  
  
If he leaned in ever so slightly and touched his lips to Harry’s cheek before he left, he prayed Harry had to good sense not to say anything.


	8. Counting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ll what?” He hissed out between his teeth.

Their base was a beautiful flat that overlooked a well-maintained garden, complete with utterly modern furniture that made Eggsy wrinkle his nose. Still, he hadn’t been able to help but marvel at the precision with which Kingsman worked, having run his fingers over the sleek glass entry table.

He couldn’t say that he hadn’t stared a little when Harry had emerged in a beautifully tailored (of course) black suit nor that watching him pull on his driving gloves, black shearling with red wool lining, hadn’t put his lip between his teeth and his breath into the shallows.

Even when he pulled on the soft cotton gloves of a proper butler, Harry was no less stunning.

“This is going to be a delight,” Harry’s dry tone had amused him when they had finally made their way in the front door.  
  
“It’s only for a few days, Harry,” Eggsy had consoled once his words had returned to him.

Somehow he hadn’t expected one of Harry’s talents to be cooking, yet they ate shepherd’s pie for dinner that tasted like heaven and only added to the warmth and ease of their conversation. Inside the walls they could speak how they wished, relax and talk about work. Work was safe, work kept them at arm’s length.

If he retired before it could go any farther it was only to protect himself. To protect himself from the things he desperately wanted to ask, from Harry’s scrutiny, from whatever fears had begun to fester in his mind.  
  
Unfortunately that didn’t work as well as he intended, tossing and turning and desperate to untangle his legs from the weight of nightmares that coiled around his legs and pulled him deep - struggling, drowning, air burning his lungs like water.

Blood. Blood spraying across a camera feed, splattering against the screen, screaming, screaming, panic at the edges of his vision. He flinched, thrashing back, desperate to help, desperate to claw his way through. Harry. He had to help Harry.  
  
Liquid dripped in the hallowed silence, echoing off wooden walls and ticking the tension higher with each successive drop. Drip. Drip. Drip. Tick. Tick. Tick. He fought for air, limbs heavy, running, running, fighting against the gravity that held him into his chair, that held him to the Earth.

A gunshot and he ripped himself up from the mattress, limbs shaking with adrenaline.  
  
Was that scream _real_?

Now he was standing on the balcony with a snifter between his fingers, rubbing the tension out of the back of his neck and running through his plays for the next day. He would be bumping into Emilio casually, a meet cute, and if he took the bait they would meet the following evening at the Gala event - a surprise to lock the hook into place. If he was really lucky he’d be fucked senseless in thirty six hours. He hoped he was lucky.

Hoped because Harry hadn’t said a thing about the tension in the air that night in his flat, or about the brush of Eggsy’s lips against his cheek. He supposed he should have said something, should have the bollocks to say _anything_ to Harry about the weird, crawling sensation that churned his intestines when they were alone.

A crash, the sound of shattering glass in the dark hallway, drew his attention and his hand shot to his side. He grit his teeth when he realized there was no weapon on his belt, taking off down the hallway for Harry's room. If someone was here they would run into Arthur first.  
  
Another gunshot.

"Harry!" He shoved his body against the closed door when the handle didn’t turn. "Fucking locked..." He rammed his shoulder against it again. "Harry! Answer me!" He threw himself against the door again. Leave it to Harry Hart to lock his fucking door.

"Eggsy wait!" He heard Harry's voice just as the wood splintered beneath him, staggering into the room with a bang to rival a gunshot. "For god's sake..."

The blind panic that had set in began to clear and Eggsy looked to find Harry kneeling beside a shattered lamp, several pieces now collected in his palm. Eggsy's chest heaved beneath him, quaking his world, and he dropped onto the bed.

"Jesus fuck, Harry," Eggsy said and ran his fingers into his hair, tugging to relieve the tension. 

_Was that shot real? Am I going mad?_

"I didn't mean to alarm you. The sound had me on edge as well." Harry's voice was strangely weak and the sound of it spurred Eggsy off the bed and around the foot to help. "That's not necessary."

"Shut up," Eggsy snapped and piled more pieces into Harry's hand. 

"You didn't need to break down the god damned door..."

"I said shut up."

"Eggsy don't you-"

"I HAD TO WATCH YOU DIE." It burst from him before he could stop it, bright and furious. "I sat there a million fuckin' miles away and had to watch you die! I had to watch that sick fucker shoot you! I've had to watch it every night since!"

Harry fell silent, but Eggsy didn't dare look up at him. 

“Every time I close my eyes… Every fucking night…” Eggsy dropped his head and slumped against the side of the bed. “I’m losing my fucking mind, Harry.”

 

* * *

 

His features were drawn tight around his skull, shadows heavy beneath his eyes, exhaustion evident in the curve of his shoulders beneath the rumpled buttondown Eggsy wore. The honesty in his voice broke Harry’s heart, wrapping tightly around his throat and choking whatever words he wished he could use to console him.  
  
In their stead he slid himself over and sat next to him, curling an arm around his shoulders, praying physical comfort would be enough, and to his great relief Eggsy leaned immediately, tucking his face into the crook of his neck.  
  
“The nightmares are the worst,” Harry said aloud, stroking his hand against the back of Eggsy’s head. A dry sob answered him. He took a breath, turning his face to nuzzle against the thatch of hair atop Eggsy’s head. “Shhh… There’s no need to brave here.” He wrapped his other arm around him.  
  
Everything was beginning to fall into place. Eggsy’s recklessness hadn’t been unusual - the cliff jumping, the brutality of his killings in Portovenere, climbing the side of the manor. It had seemed normal, but Harry should have seen the exhaustion, the way that Eggsy had broken in the office that day, should have put together the emotion in Eggsy’s eyes during their dance.

“I’ve been a fool, Eggsy,” he murmured.

“I dunno how you do it,” Eggsy said into the hollow of his throat.  
  
“I ruin lamps and lock my door and pray the windows don’t shudder in the night.” The band tightened around his heart, squeezing his words. “I think twice before I pull the trigger, check over my shoulder when I turn corners, and tremble when car doors slam.”  
  
Eggsy lifted his head. In this light his irises were mere slivers of blue around pools of darkness that threatened to swallow him whole.

“I count. One, two, thirty, fifty. Fifty- _four_.” He couldn’t stop the words now. “I see their faces, their bodies like fallen leaves, blood seeping into my clothes, into my skin.” He fought the urge to wipe his hands.  
  
“We’re fucking broken, eh?” Eggsy asked, voice empty.  
  
“Never broken. Bent, bruised, battered… never broken, Eggsy.” His breath caught in his throat when his apprentice slid gentle fingers against his cheek, as delicate as a child.

“And not alone.” Eggsy said, a spark of life returning to his eyes, as if he had made a realization. “Don’t lock your door anymore.”  
  
“I hardly think that would stop you.” Harry was relieved by Eggsy’s humor, feeling the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Yer damn right. I’m not going to stand by again… From now on if you look over your shoulder I’ll be there.” Eggsy’s eyes flickered lower again but returned to Harry’s. “And if you gotta count you count to me and I’ll…”  
  
“You’ll what?” He hissed out between his teeth.  
  
“I’ll…” He caught the side of his neck and leaned in ever so slightly, lashes half lowered, and Harry relented, dropping his eyes to Eggsy's lips. The air between their mouths was thick and damp for the briefest of moments, a storm of hesitation and unspoken consequences, and Harry barely had a chance to chase his breath before Eggsy had murmured, "Sod it all."

Harry had never been kissed quite so sweetly. Soft, experimental kisses against his mouth until he parted his lips, then an exploratory flick of tongue between his teeth. He didn't fight it, barely daring to believe it was happening, and slid his hand up behind Eggsy's neck, brushing his thumb against the short hairs at his nape.

Then he realized what Eggsy was doing. 

_Fifteen._ _Sixteen_. _Seventeen_.  
  
His heart pounded against its containment, rattling his bones and curling his fingers in the hair he had between them.  
  
_Twenty-one._ _Twenty-two._

He leaned in now, relishing each moment before Eggsy chased oxygen back into his mouth, letting his hand fall to his hip.  
  
_Thirty._

Eggsy’s hand against the exposed skin of his chest, smoothing over the lines of his collarbone. Eggsy’s lips like freshwater, cool and refreshing. Eggsy’s breaths, soft and juddering. Eggsy pushing back the shadows of fear with kisses Harry hadn’t known he deserved.  
  
_Forty-three_.

He lost count somewhere around fifty but it didn’t matter anymore by the time they were wound around each other and Eggsy was whispering to him between kisses and the cool London air that seeped in from the balcony was heavy and moist and bleeding grey in the dawn.

 

* * *

 

When he woke, to a chill in the air and the subtle beeping of the Kingsman comm, he stretched muscles aching from disuse and settled back down with a heavy sigh. The rustling of fresh sheets beneath his head and the scent of expensive cologne drew his attention and he looked over to find a pair of dark eyes watching him.  
  
“Good morning,” Harry Hart greeted easily. He was sitting up in bed, his tablet propped up on his knee and a cup of tea in one hand.  
  
“You look good with your hair all mussed,” Eggsy screwed up his eyes, trying to remember what all had gone down the night before. Kisses. He remembered a lot of those.

"Thank you," Harry breathed out a sigh, relenting when Eggsy reached for his tea. "You know this level of familiarity is..."

"It's tea, Harry. If you're afraid I got cooties you're a bit late to the races." He wrinkled his nose at the bitter taste and handed it back. 

"I was going to say nice."

He swallowed hard, licking the last remnants of tea from his lips. 

"Yeah,” he finally agreed and Harry’s gentle smile had him sitting up. “I should go get dressed. We’ve got to catch our target.”  
  
He lingered, watching Harry watch him, then leaned into the hand Harry reached out with, lifting his fingers to trace them against his skin. A wordless thank you that settled whatever worries that begun to surface after the night before.  
  
“Don’t forget to take a shower. You smelled like brandy when you broke my door down last night,” Harry said playfully as Eggsy left.

“It’s a wonder the Kingsman get anything done considering how often we just stand around and drink,” Eggsy responded, leaving Harry chuckling.

 

* * *

 

“Well aren’t you two cheerful?” Merlin’s voice fed into Harry’s receiver. “Been laughing all morning.”  
  
“Well not everyone had piss in their tea every morning,” Eggsy answered and Harry snorted.

Eggsy was slumped by the fountain in Trafalgar Square, a coffee braced in his fingers. Harry had to admit that Eggsy fit the part of a hip upper class Londoner more easily than was natural, his thick scarf and carefully crafted undercut giving him the appearance of a model off the clock - Harry still preferred suits, but the way Eggsy’s biceps shifted under the wool of his jumper and how he looked with his sleeves rolled to his elbows… well he was picky not dead.  
  
“I want to love you P-Y-T pretty young thing,” Eggsy had started to sing softly to himself, jiggling his leg absently, “you need some _lovin_ ' T-L-C” he paused to take a drink from his coffee, “tender lovin' care.”  
  
“Thank you for the serenade, Galahad, but your mark is on the move to your east.” Merlin said humorlessly.  
  
“Ooh hoo hoo~” Eggsy finished regardless and rose, striding into the crowds of foreigners. “Septics always gather in little bunches. Like they wear flag pins to say ‘here I am I’m a Yank’.”  
  
“Charming, Eggsy, please be charming.” Harry watched him shift his shoulders down, flashing a winning smile to the American girls that whispered amongst themselves as he passed, slowing to answer questions. “Good boy,” he slung his arm over the back of the bench he was sitting on.  
  
The meet cute went off without a hitch. Collision, coffee successfully splattered between them, apologies. Harry couldn’t decide if he was proud or irritated with how easy it was to hook the handsome American - though again he hadn’t been innocent of ogling Eggsy himself.  
  
“I’m so sorry, mate,” Eggsy’s laugh came easy and pure over his feed.  
  
“No man it’s alright I didn’t mean to spill your coffee. What’d you have? Let me get you a new one.” The American’s flat accent grated Harry’s nerves.  
  
“Oh nah, really it’s fine,” Eggsy played it off. “I’m just glad you didn’t get any on you.”  
  
“Nada. My name’s Emilio, by the way.” He offered his hand. He wasn’t as well dressed as Eggsy, wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, but didn’t stop the devilishly handsome edge to his angular face or the comfortably confident way he ran his fingers through his long, dark hair.  
  
“Peter,” Eggsy smiled with a swift shake.  
  
“Do you know the way to the wax museum? We were trying to get there.” Emilio thumbed over his shoulder.  
  
“The Tube.” Eggsy answered easily. “Go down those steps over there and take the train. You’ll get off at the Baker street station.”  
  
“Oh thanks man! Sorry about the coffee again,” Emilio gripped Eggsy’s shoulder as he shook his hand once more. “Nice to meet you, Peter.”  
  
“Cheers.” Eggsy watched him go, shoving his hands into his pocket. “Americans are always so friendly.” Harry could hear the smile on his voice.  
  
“Right. Round it up. We’ll see more of him tomorrow.” 

Harry didn’t release the breath he’d been holding until they were back in the car.

**Author's Note:**

> wanna yell about headcanons? find me on tumblr at [serahgalahad](http://jocunditea.co.vu/) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/thorintea).


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